The Rise of the High Lords
by Helene van der Coelen
Summary: AU. For millennia they have ruled over the wizard. But faithlessness and the arrogance of the wizards have driven away, passing them into the land of myths. Waiting with anticipation for the right time to come, it was thus Harry Potter who awakened them.


**Title: **Rise of the High Lords

**Disclaim Her: **All J. K. Rowlings. I am writing this for fun and not profit.

**Pairings: **Harry/Draco eventually

**Warnings:** AU. Spoilers for all 7 in later chapters, however not explicit. Manipulation. Angst. Violence. Politics. OOCness. Original Characters. Grey!Independent!Harry, Cute!Draco.

**Rating: **M

**Summary: **For millennia they have ruled over the wizard. But faithlessness and the arrogance of the wizards have driven away, passing them into the land of myths. Waiting with anticipation for the right time to come, it was thus Harry Potter who awakened them. AU, starts with 4th year. HP/DM Slash. Grey!Independent!Harry

**Author's Notes: **This is my very first story. I do not have a beta, neither am I a native English speaker. So, please be kind!

P.S.: If anyone _wants _to be my beta, send me a PM.

...

**Rise of the High Lords**

**Chapter 1**

...

"Mum!"

A bright sunny day found Narcissa Malfoy sitting on the veranda at the back gardens of Malfoy Manor, indulged in a novel _of that sort_ which Adeline Zabini had suggested to her with a lecherous smile. Feeling caught, she put the book on her lap, the front of it facing her legs. She had glamoured cover to look like a spell-book on gardening. Looking up, she saw her youngest son, Draco, running to her with a piece of parchment waving in his hand.

"Muuuuuuum!"

Narcissa turned her head to her left hand side where her husband, Lucius, who had previously been reading the _Daily Prophet_, was watching Draco with a disapproving frown around his lips.

Draco had finally reached his parents, out of breath and with a tint of red in his cheeks. _How eerie_, she thought with a pang of jealousy, _that Draco should look exactly like me, when I was his age! _While Draco was becoming more of a young man, having matured considerable over the summer holidays, she was already using potions to even out the few wrinkles she had.

_He will be starting his fourth year at Hogwarts next week_, she mused. Lucius Malfoy had started to court her in her fourth year at Hogwarts. He, himself, had been a 5th year perfect of Slytherin House. The engagement followed three years later and the year after Hogwarts, Narcissa Black had taken her responsibilities as Mrs. Malfoy of Canderley, Wiltshire. Their parents had been ecstatic about the union between the Houses of Black and Malfoy. Five years later, in 1978, Lythian, heir to the Malfoy fortune and future Lord Malfoy, was born. After two years, Draco followed.

Narcissa had always favoured Draco. His resemblance in both appearance and character to his mother was almost uncanny. Instead of the typical silver-blond hair and blue eyes of the Malfoy Family, Draco had inherited her golden clocks and the grey eyes of the Black Family. Lythian, though, was the splitting image of his father. Lythian's sharp pointy features contrasted with Draco's soft face. Lythian was tall and his presence domineering like his father, Draco was small, lithe and almost delicate. _Like a doll_, Narcissa thought.

"Do not run, Draco. It is most unbecoming of a Malfoy," reprimanded Narcissa.

Draco had sat down next to her, a sheepish look gracing his face and poured himself a glass of iced tea. "Is this raspberry?" he asked, after a sip.

Lucius had turned back to his newspaper, suspecting that nothing out of ordinary was to be spoken.

"Yes," she answered. "Is there something, you wanted?"

Draco blushed and looked at the parchment in his hands. Narcissa followed his hands with her eyes. It looked like a letter.

"Can we - can we talk _alone_?"

_Ahhh, that kind of talk_, Narcissa thought, grinning inwardly.

"I am sure it is nothing your father cannot hear", she said. She had been a Black once, after all. And the Blacks were known for their cruelty. She enjoyed seeing Draco fidget and anxiously rolling the parchment in his hands.

Lucius apparently had decided that the conversation was going to be interesting after all. He folded his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and put it on the table, staring expectantly at Draco.

"Oh well, you see..." He kept silent. Narcissa sighed.

"Is this about a girl?"

Draco jumped in his seat, looking at her surprised. Narcissa could feel Lucius' gaze on her. Draco cleared his throat.

"... Not exactly."

"A boy, then," Narcissa encouraged him to talk.

"Yes," Draco admitted reluctantly.

"Does he go to Hogwarts with you?"

"No."

"Well, where did you meet him then?" Narcissa was getting annoyed in her attempt to get Draco to talk. Lucius had settled back in his seat and was listening with his arms folded in front of him.

"At the Quidditch World Cup. He was there with his family, I think... Um... He introduced himself, we talked and he asked me, if he was allowed to owl me and - and he has been writing me since then..." Draco blushed.

"I see," Narcissa said, allowing a small smile to grace her face. Seeing her smile, Draco relaxed and stopped fidgeting, looking relieved. "Was is his name?"

"Haryon. He didn't tell me his last name," Draco said, looking frustrated. Looking at Lucius, and seeing his frown, he rushed to add: "He is obviously from a large and very old wizarding family."

"Hmmm..." Lucius agreed. "Haryon _is_ a very unusual name. But not unheard of. There is only one Clan in Wizarding Britain who uses that name, so we should be able to discover his identity."

"Clan? But he is not a vampire!" Draco squealed. Narcissa rolled her eyes at his exclamation.

Lucius sighed. "What do you know about the origins of magic, Draco?"

_Ahhh_, thought Narcissa, remembering where she had heard the name Haryon before.

Many millenia ago, Magic was given to the humans by the Dragons. However, not all humans were gifted with magic. Hand-picked humans were chosen, the so called High Lords of Magic, only thirty-one humans in whole Europe, seven in Britain, who in turn would redistribute the magic among their own kind. And the first High Lords did so. Magic spread and they, the first wizards, created their own world: The wizarding world.

In addition, the High Lords had several special gifts. These would be distributed among the most trusted. Some High Lords had more gifts than others. Others had less gifts to grant, but were more powerful. And those who had received a special gift would be called kin in magic.

The Blacks, together with the Malfoys, Weasleys, Rosiers, Lestranges and several other prominent families had once sworn loyalty and kinship to the High Lord Quinn many hundred years ago. For their loyalty the Black Family were rewarded with Black Magic, the ability to hold Black Fire which always destroyed anything within its proximity. The Malfoys in turn were gifted with Enchantment. The Quinn Family, however, died out in the late 18th century. With no one to succeed them, none of their kin to be able to wield all of the eight gifts of the Quinns, their influence on their kin diminished, resulting in the slow lost of the gifts. The Weasleys were the first family to turn their back to the Old Ways. The Weasleys were once gifted with the ability of Warding. However, after the disappearance of the Quinns, so sure and prideful of their abilities, they decided to fend for themselves. Blood traitors, Lucius called them.

The close proximity to the High Lord guaranteed the stability and the prowess of the received gifts and magic. Even Salazar Slytherin knew that. His own ancestors had sworn loyalty to the High Lord Peverell many centuries before and they were gifted with Parsel in exchange. However, Salazar Slytherin had observed how his own kins in magic, the Rosenbergs, who were gifted with Blood Magic, had turned their back on the High Lord. In their arrogance, blinded by the power of their magic, they turned traitors. _Blood traitors._ Salazar Slytherin had seen that with each passing generation, their magic turned weaker. Five centuries after having forsaken their oath, the Rosenbergs were no more. Lost were their magic, reducing them all to mere squibs.

This was the reason why Salazar Slytherin was against admitting blood traitors to Hogwarts. _Slytherin would have made a very good Hufflepuff_, Narcissa decided. _His loyalty to the High Lord Peverell knew no bounds._ He had foreseen what could have become of the magical community if every and all wizards were to forsake the Old Ways. Even now, thousand years later, the Slytherin House at Hogwarts did not admit muggleborns, for they were the descendants of squibs, of blood traitors. Salazar Slytherin, who himself had never even met a muggleborn in his whole life, had theorised about the possibility of muggleborns emerging, speaking of them in contempt and distaste.

After Slytherin's death, his son Haryon Slytherin had renewed the oath of loyalty to the High Lord Peverell. Unfortunately, Haryon and his son Secundus Slytherin were killed in an ambush by muggles, leaving only a daughter. With the bonding of Isobel Slytherin to Ambrosius Peverell, the Slytherin legacy had seemed to be lost. The Slytherin properties and lands had been suburbanised to the neighbouring estate of the Peverell.

Many years later, Isobel's grandson, Haryon Peverell who later became the High Lord Haryon XXIIX of Peverell, had sired three sons, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotius Peverell. It was decided that Cadmus, the middle of the three brothers, would inherit the Slytherin legacy, which by now had been elevated to a titled nobility of England becoming Cadmus Peverell, Baronet of Slytherin.

Many years later, Cadmus fell victim to insanity. He had sired a son though, who was as insane as his father, but he, nevertheless, took over the responsibilities of the Baronetcy. It was unknown how Cadmus' son Vivus came to be. Rumour said Cadmus had been a desecrator of graves and had had intercourse with his dead bride Caecilia. However, Cadmus' line came to an end, when in 1312 Cadmus' grand-daughter Camilla married Marvolo Gaunt. Even though the Peverells did not approve of Camilla's choice, it was decided that the Baronetcy was to go to the Gaunt Family as well as the offer of kinship and the gift of Parsel.

Ignotius Peverell, being the youngest of three brothers, had no rights and titles to claim for his own. So he married a gentleman's daughter Viatrix van Pottersbergh de la Potterie and took her name. The van Pottersbergh de la Potteries had settled in southern England after 766, and even though they were untitled nobility, they possessed vast amounts of land and they already shared kinship with the Peverells. Their loyalty to the High Lord was rewarded, when in 942, over three centuries before Ignotius' bonding to Viatrix, the van Pottersbergh de la Potterie were gifted the Magic of Change. Change was probably the most serviceable of all Peverell gifts, as it was the art of transfiguration. Even now, many centuries later, there has not been a member of the Potter Family (who had changed their name from van Pottersbergh de la Potterie to Potter in 1298) who has not been an Animagus or possessed Metamorphogus abilities.

After several harsh summers in early 16th century and the failure of harvest, Magnus Gaunt had renounced his legacy - the Baronetcy of Slytherin and fealty to the Earl Peverell - for a cash payment; only to return after gambling away the money to again claim the position. The Peverells, put out by the fickle loyalty of the Gaunts and the theft of the few Slytherin valuables the estate possessed, took away the Slytherin land and property and gifted them to their most loyal kin of that time: The Potters. In 1516, Haryon Potter renewed the Potter oath of loyalty to the High Lord Peverell and took the mantle of Baronet of Slytherin.

The Potters, Peverells and Slytherins were not the only ones who were inclined to call their offsprings _Haryon_. Narcissa remembered several Haryon Longbottoms, Haryon Boneses and Haryon Wendlands from her ancestry classes by her mother Druella Black née Rosier. Like the Potters, the Longbottoms, Boneses and Wendlands had sworn loyalty to the High Lord Peverell and were endowed with magical gifts: Soul Magic for the Longbottoms, Necromancy for the Boneses and Mind Magic for the Wendlands.

"- and the kin of the Peverells frequently call the heirs of their families _Haryon_, for Haryon means Prince or Heir in their ancient tongue."

Narcissa snapped back to reality.

Draco was watching his father intensively, with a frown marring his face. "So, Haryon is the heir to one of the families you mentioned?"

"Yes, it is most probable," Lucius said. After a pause, in which he took a sip of his iced tea, he continued: "Of course, it cannot be the Longbottoms, or Wendlands, or Boneses, as there has been nobody called Haryon for many years now. It is possible that you met _Harry _Potter, since -"

"No. Haryon does not have a scar on his forehead. Also, _everyone _knows that Harry Potter has been missing for years, Dad!"

Narcissa cringed. Lucius hated to be interrupted. "Well," he continued, his tone frosty and his eyes narrowed. Draco winced. "Of course, it cannot be Potter. However, the Gaunts have disappeared years ago and he could very well be one. Also, nobody knows whom the Peverells have picked as the successors of the Rosenbergs. And the Peverell have not made a public appearance for five hundred years now."

"I see," said Draco pensively, and put a finger to his lips.

"But that was not, what you wanted to know, was it?" asked Narcissa, breaking her silence.

"Um... No. I -," Draco stopped talking. He suddenly appeared nervous again. He cleared his throat and continued with wide eyes: "I think, he has been _courting_ me."

"Really," Lucius commented drily. "What gave you _that _idea?"

"Well... He has been sending me gifts! But they are not your usual courting gifts... I mean, he send me a looking-glass, and a candleholder of all things!" said Draco, looking bewildered. Lucius and Narcissa shared a look, which Draco did not fail to miss. "What?"

"That is not so unusual, as you might think, Draco," said Narcissa and put a hand on his knee. "As a matter of fact, do you remember the candleholder in the breakfast room. The large silver one with the many arms?" At Draco nod, she continued: "It was your father's first courting gift." She glanced at Lucius who was pursing his lips, with a look in his eyes she could not place.

"Yes," he said shortly. "In the Old Ways there were only a few acceptable courting gifts and most often they were connected with the family you were courting. It is quite natural that you were to be presented a candleholder as it usually represents the Black Family, most likely because of the Black Fire they used to hold."

"And the looking-glass represents the Malfoy Family?" At Lucius nod, Draco became pensive again. Lucius and Narcissa again shared a look. _Three... Two... One..._

"Mum!" Draco shrieked. "He _is_ courting me! What shall I do?" Lucius rolled his eyes and picked up his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ again.

"Well, you could invite him to tea, before school starts. Lucius and I would like to meet him. Also, he would probably would like to speak to your father and ask for approval," Narcissa responded, watching Draco as he flushed and rolled the parchment in his hands. Suddenly, as if remembering something, he straightened his back and stopped fidgeting.

"This was the reason why I actually came! He asked, if he were allowed to call on me. Is he?" he asked, glancing at Lucius. Lucius did not even looked up from his _Daily Prophet_, but nodded anyway. Narcissa smiled and Draco, looking relieved, jumped out of his seat, exclaiming: "Thanks!" and rushed back into the Manor.

Narcissa turned to Lucius: "Who do you think is this Haryon person?"

Lucius did not look up and resumed to his reading. "We will see..."

Narcissa picked up her novel again. _"... she is a most respectable woman to whom you perhaps owe considerable amends since, however much someone may delude himself by parading his delicate feelings, none the less when he is the first man to try to seduce a simple well-bred young girl -"_

"I did not know you where interested in gardening."

Narcissa looked up with a start and flushed delicately. "I thought we could engage a new landscaper...", she lied, not meeting his eyes.

"Of course", Lucius said with a knowing smirk. "I am sure you are fully capable to attend to it yourself."

"Of course", she repeated, suddenly feeling very hot. From embarrassment, the warm summer wind or the erotic novel in her hands, she did not know.

...

Harry Potter was standing in the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor, waiting to grant his respects to the Malfoy Family. It was as elegantly appointed as Potter Manor was, though the wall hangings and furniture were rather faded. However, whereas Potter Manor was decorated in warm colours and had a homey feeling to it, Canderley - how Malfoy Manor was called - was dark and cold. Harry shivered. In anticipation what was to come or because of the dangerous feeling that loomed around him, he did not know. Canderley, like Potter Manor, seemed alive and sentient, and it did definitely did not approve of him. He had the most foreboding feeling, that he was_ not welcomed_. The many portraits that lined the walls moved and whispered, making him fidget nervously.

A little house-elf by the name of Dibby or Dabby - Harry could not remember - had open the front door. After he had bowed so low that the end of its long nose had touched the floor, he admitted Harry to the Manor. The house-elf let Harry waiting in the foyer, after disappearing into thin air to alert his Masters.

He placed himself on the chaise lounge, the only piece of furniture in the foyer, and pondered about how he came to be here.

Almost thirteen years ago, after the death of his parents on the fateful night at Samhain 1981, he was brought to his apparently only living blood relative, his Aunt Petunia Dursley. Petunia, displeased that the _freaky_ son of her _freaky_ sister was placed on _her_ doorstep, had written the first and only owl in her whole life: To one Charlus Potter, Harry Potter's grand-father.

Charles Potter and his wife Dorea née Black were presumed dead after a death-eater attack on Potter Manor in 1978 which destroyed part of the west wing in fiendfyre. James Potter, their son, had cried and whined at their funeral, cursing the Gods that he could not give his parents a proper burial since _no bodies were found_. It was assumed that the corpses were consumed by the fire. Charlus and Dorea silently applauded their son's acting skills after moving to Peverell Castle.

When Charlus received the owl by Petunia demanding he pick up his abnormal grand-son, they did not loose any time. Upon returning to Peverell Castle, for Potter Manor was still inhabitable, Charlus and Dorea sat in the drawing room together with Cepheus Potter, Charlus' father and Baronet of Slytherin, and they drafted a plan. Haryon Potter needed to disappear, and in his stead Haryon Peverell emerged.

It was a well-kept secrets of the Potters and the Peverells, that the Peverell line had ended in 1298 after Antioch Peverell's sickly son, Augustus Peverell, had bonded with his cousin, Eileen van Pottersbergh de la Potterie, and died shortly after. However, both lines were now intimately connected. By a stroke of fate, the Magic had decided that the van Pottersbergh de la Potterie would now be the one's to wield the Magic of the Peverells. Haryon Peverell XXIIX, Antioch Peverell's and Ignotius van Pottersbergh de la Potteries née Peverell's father and High Lord Peverell, decided that in order to keep appearance and unsettle their enemies the van Pottersbergh de la Potterie had to keep the Peverell name as well.

So the future Potters became knowledgeable in the art of creating Gnomes and living a double life. When Cepheus Potter, Charlus' father, was officially registered dead in the Ministry of Magic in 1945, he became Glaucus Peverell. When Charlus and Dorea Potter, already advanced in age, were presumed dead in 1978, they settled back in Peverell Castle as Aphus and Thea Peverell. James had had already picked out names for himself and his wife Lily. Isaac and Cecile were they to be called, however, unfortunately their death had been too premature.

But that would be suffice, Glaucus Peverell had decided. Isaac and Cecile would fill-in as the pretend-parents of Haryon Peverell. Nevertheless, Aphus and Thea were anxious if a toddler was up to lead a double-life. So the first four years after Harry came to live at Peverell Castle, he would be hidden away in an abandoned wing with only the company of house-elfs. By the time he hit five, he would with the help of time-turners spent every day twice and artificially age. Three years later, when Harry Potter was officially eight years old, Haryon Peverell was already eleven and old enough to attend a magic school. In autumn 1988, Haryon Peverell, supposedly born on 16th of March 1977, enrolled at Durmstrang Academy in Germany.

The years passed quickly, Haryon Peverell charming almost all his professors with his advanced knowledge he had received during his times with the time-turner. At times when he did not know the answers to the questions asked by the professors, his thirsted to find out what the answer was and then reading everything he could find about it in the school library. The only lesson Harry had any problems in was potions. But he had immediately dropped it after his O-Level after his fifth year of schooling. Instead, he had decided to focus on the gifts of the Peverell family. So he took advanced classes in the Necromancy, Blood Magic, Transfiguration and Mind Magic. Since Durmstrang did not offer Parsel and Soul Magic, he had decided to complement his education with lectures in the Dark Arts, Ancient Runes and Charms.

After his sixth year at Durmstrang, Viktor Krum, his closest friend at Durmstrang had invited him to the Quidditch World Cup Finals, where Viktor was to play seeker for the Bulgarian National Team. Haryon had gladly accepted. He was wandering through the vendors on the way to the Top Box he was to share with the other class mates Viktor had invited, when he had caught the flicker blond hair out of the corner of his eyes.

The owner of the blond hair had been a small boy with a very slight frame. He had been with a group of blonds - probably his family - but Haryon had not really paid them much attention. As if feeling his gaze, the blond boy had looked up and stared right into his eyes. His gaze had been drawn right away to the boy's very bright grey eyes and he smirked calmly at him, as though seizing him up. Looking up at Haryon through his lashes, the boy had send Haryon a little smile, before turning back to his family. He had not even glanced back to Haryon's direction for the duration of the whole game. Haryon, though, had almost missed Krum catching the snitch, so engrossed that he had been.

He had considered him _pretty_, but certainly not beautiful - the kind of awkward-looking young boy who nobody ever really knew if he would end up to be handsome or even more awkward as he grew up. He had certainly been still very young, several younger than him. Probably too young for him to court. He had stolen another secretive glance. _Harry's age_, Haryon had decided confidently, then could have kicked himself for referring to his alter-ego in the third person.

Haryon had just entered the tent he was to share with Mariusz Sas and Markus Reichenbächer, his fellows year mates from Durmstrang, when the screaming had started. It was past midnight and the Bulgarian celebrations had already finished. Even though Viktor had caught the snitch, because of their loss against the Irish, the Bulgarian team had been rather subdued. For a moment, Haryon had just thought they were just being loud again, before he noticed the change in the atmosphere, there were no cheerful boisterous yells any more just loud screaming that spoke of real fear.

Ready to strike, the three had emerged from their tent. They had been thankful to notice that the apparent Death Eaters who were targeting muggles were moving in the opposite direction to them, obviously not messing with the tents for the ministry and wealthy Quidditch fans. Haryon had looked around at the other tents around him, knowing that some of those Death Eaters had to be staying in them. As they watched the riot taking place, Haryon had seen the blond boy from the top box again, observing from the opening of his tent which was placed right next to theirs. The boy had caught his gaze and was about to return to his tent, when Haryon's "Wait!" had halted him. The boy had hesitated and Haryon had made his excuses to his fellow pupils before rushing to the boy's tent.

"Hello," Haryon had whispered when he had finally reached the boy's tent. The sheer proximity to the blond boy had made his magic jump. He had felt a rush from his stomach to his ears, hands and legs, and every loose limp of body. He had suppressed an excited shudder. He had taken the boy's hand in his own and was pleased to notice a electrifying tingle underneath his fingertips. "My name is Haryon..."

"Draco. Draco Malfoy," the blond boy said in an equally low tone.

Haryon had caught a blissful whiff of his scent when he had bowed over the back of Draco's hand to place a little kiss, and he had closed his eyes, drawn in by that sweet scent. When he had opened them, Draco had been be staring intently at Haryon again, and in the next moment he was being dragged to a dark corner right between the adjoining tents. "Someone might see us...," Draco had whispered, and Haryon had wondered if he was afraid getting caught in a compromising situation by his father. Haryon had suppressed a groan at that image.

The silence between them had been electric and the pressure building inside Haryon seemed to be on the verge of exploding, he knew it had to do with Draco standing right in front of him and not touching him, kissing him, doing _something anything_ to him. He had been feeling the magic underneath his skin swirling, looking for a loop hole to burst out. In a flash of inspiration, he had pushed Draco against a nearby column, pressing his hard body against Draco's soft one and he had captured Draco's lips with his own in an urged kiss.

Draco had gasped and Haryon had used the opportunity to administer his tongue into his hot mouth. Draco had apparently never been kissed - _untouched_ - before Haryon had stolen his first kissed. His inexperience had spoken for him and Haryon had felt arousal being the first one to do so. An explosion in the air had made them sprung apart.

So lost in Draco's lips that he had not even considered the possible consequences of his actions. Seducing the scion of a prominent pureblood family in the middle of a camping site; taken him like _some kind of muggleborn_; _ruining_ him for any prospect marriage. Draco's father would have surely have murdered him - a quick kill, if he had been lucky. Most probably, Haryon would have been challenged to a duel of honour.

Out of breath, he had thought about the next steps to be taken. _No, he needed to do this the proper way_. "Would you permit me to write to you?" he asked in a hushed tone.

A small smile had flitted over Draco's lush lips before he nodded. Haryon could not have helped to admire the slight flush in this cheeks. "I'd love to," Darco finally answered, giving him a smile that somehow managed to be half coy, half sly. Haryon almost groaned aloud at the image the younger boy made.

Since then they had been exchanging letters almost daily and Haryon was pleasantly surprised by Draco's wit and intelligence. His scratching comments and his cunning remarks about everything and anything fitted perfectly with Haryon's cynical habitus.

The only two persons around Draco's age that he ever met were Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom who both were sister and brother of magic to Haryon. He had met them when the Boneses and Longbottoms had been visiting the High Lord Peverell, using a time-turner to pretend to be both Haryon Peverell and Harry Potter at the same time.

Harry Potter was an amiable young man, cheerful and friendly, who hid his thoughts behind a smile. Wherein Haryon Peverell was cold, aloof and reserved, appearing almost statuesque. Harry was still a child; short with knobbly knees, untameable black hair, bright emerald green eyes that were hidden by glasses and an angry-red scar on his forehead shaped like lightening bold. Haryon, however, was already a young man; tall with broad shoulders, tidily combed pitch-black hair that - like the scion of an old pureblood family - was kept long and pale grey-green eyes that were adjusted with a temporal Eye Correction Spell. His scar was temporally moved to his leg.

Whilst Harry was very good friends with his kins Susan and Neville, Haryon had found them immature and childish. So he was content and satisfied to realise that Draco displayed more maturity.

With the noise of a house-elf popping in, Harry spanned back to reality. "Master will see you now, Sir!" the house-elf said in a high-pitched tone, and gestured Harry to follow him. He guided Harry through a dark, and very long corridor which was aligned with many more paintings. When Harry was starting to think, that the walk would never end, the house elf abruptly stopped in front of large double winged doors and Harry would have stumbled over him, if he had not caught himself in the last second.

The house-elf opened the door and Harry stepped in.

...

Thank you for reading. Please review. I'd would like to hear some honest and constructive criticism. Since I've never written a real story, I'd like to know, what you guys think!


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